The Detective and the Tech Guy
by thecharleses
Summary: Sarah Walker is a Pinkerton detective. Chuck Bartowski is an electronics genius. They wouldn't have met except for a case of mistaken identity and murder. Will the detective and the tech guy solve the mystery, distracted by the riddle in their own hearts? An homage to The Thin Man movies co-written by Steampunk . Chuckster and dettiot.
1. The Detective and the Tech Guy Meet

**The Detective and the Tech Guy**  
**Authors**: Steampunk . Chuckster & dettiot  
**Rating**: T  
**Summary**: A case of mistaken identity and murder brings Sarah Walker, Pinkerton agent, to sunny California. Protecting the heir to the Bartowski Electronics Corporation should be just business-but Chuck Bartowski fills out a suit nicely and makes a mean martini. Chuck lobbied to hire the Pinkerton Agency, but had no idea that the detective they'd send would be as alluring, intelligent and fascinating as Sarah Walker. Will the detective and the tech guy solve the mystery, distracted by the riddle in their own hearts? An homage to The Thin Man movies, co-written by Steampunk . Chuckster and dettiot.  
**Disclaimer**: Neither of us own Chuck. If we did, there would have been a 1940s flashback episode. And a musical episode. And . . . you get the idea.  
**Author's Note 1**: Interesting how seeing a graphic on tumblr can turn into a big, whopping story idea. And then you share the big, whopping story idea with your friend and writing buddy. And then writing buddy becomes writing PARTNER. Between the two of us, ideas started sprouting into a legitimate plot, and we began chatting in caps we were so excited. It's always scary, deciding to cowrite a fic with another writer whose writing style is so different from yours. One thing I know we share for sure: a deep and impenetrable love for these characters. This has been a BLAST. Couldn't ask for a better cowriter. Our constant brain meld throughout this process was actually a little creepy, to be honest. I can't even begin to express how much fun I had working on this with dettiot. So it is my hope that you lovelies enjoy the story as well!  
**Author's Note 2**: dettiot here! I was so so so thrilled when Steampunk . Chuckster told me about her idea to recreate The Thin Man as a crossover with Chuck. Because it was such an awesome idea, and I was even more thrilled when she let me come play in the sandbox, too. Writing this story together has been a blast and we're so excited to bring it off Tumblr and into the big wide Chuck fanfic world! I've had so many great moments with Steampunk . Chuckster along the way, times when we started reading each other's minds and everything clicked into place. No one does comedy with heart better than Steampunk . Chuckster, and I think you're all in for a great ride, if I do say so myself. And I do, because I know what happens next. :-) So settle in with a martini, put on some jazz and enjoy **The Detective and the Tech Guy**!

X0X0X0

TRANSCRIPT OF FIRST CLIENT MEETING

PARTICIPANTS: Sarah Walker (SW), Pinkerton Detective; Stephen Bartowski (SB), client; Charles Bartowski (CB), client.

SW: Sarah Walker, meeting with Stephen and Charles Bartowski on May 20. This first client meeting is recorded according to Pinkerton policy. Both clients have been advised of this recording.

(pause)

SW: Good afternoon, gentlemen. The Pinkerton Agency is very intrigued by this case and I'm glad to be here, to help in any way I can.

CB: (haltingly) Thank you for coming on such short notice…Miss Walker? Agent Walker?

SW: Detective Walker when we're discussing the case in private, Sarah when in public. It would be for the best if my affiliation with Pinkerton is kept quiet.

CB: Yes, of course. That makes sense. (pauses) Uh…

SB: So what's the protocol here, Detective? What do we do? Tell you what happened or…?

SW: (briskly) Prior to accepting this case, we researched this situation thoroughly. Due to the murder of Robert Gerheart and Charles Bartowski's request for Pinkerton assistance, we evaluated the case constructed by the LAPD and found it … lacking.

(sound of something hitting the table)

SW: We've compiled dossiers on both of you as well as Bartowski Electronics Corporation, although I would like to ask you each a few questions to clear up some questions I have.

CB: (sound of clothing rustling) Yes. Yes, of course. Ask away, Detective.

SW: Okay. As I understand it, LAPD feels that Mr. Gerheart was the victim of mistaken identity. That the killer thought he was killing Stephen Bartowski. I've seen the pictures and there is a resemblance. The police has identified a disgruntled ex-employee of Bartowski Electronics as the killer. So why call in Pinkerton, Stephen? And please excuse my informality; we would be here all day if I called you both Mr. Bartowski.

SB: I'm afraid you'll have to ask my son here that question. I was perfectly satisfied with the LAPD's conclusion.

CB: Frankly, if you don't mind me jumping in here, I thought the LAPD was pretty quick to accept the solution Andrew Sallis' suicide note gave them. They didn't ask questions or look into the guy's situation. They found him dead, found the note, and that was it. Case closed. I'm not satisfied my father's life isn't still in danger—

SB: Charles, the man was nuts. I know. He worked for me. He confessed to killing Bob in his suicide note.

CB: Have you watched television, Dad? It's so easy to fake a suicide. Scribble a confession on a piece of paper in the guy's handwriting and you're done.

(sound of a heavy sigh)

SW: Gentlemen. It is the opinion of the Pinkerton Agency that Charles is correct—that the convenient confession and quote-unquote suicide of your former employee is something that should be investigated further. Especially in light of the death threat received last week by you, Stephen.

CB: See?

SB: That was nothing. I receive letters with threats all the time. They're screened by my assistant and thrown away.

CB: Dad, this was different. They called you on the phone. On your personal cell. And then Mr. Gerheart ended up dead on our doorstep.

SW: The change in communication method is concerning. Thus why I'm here. I have three assistants who will be coordinating with me on improving the security within your offices and homes; we will also be guarding Stephen as you go about your daily business.

SB: Are the bodyguards really necessary, Detective—

CB: (interrupts) Thank you, Detective Walker. But the threat was only meant for my dad. I mean, I really don't think I'm in any danger…

SW: You are widely considered your father's heir, Charles. Someday, you will be the CEO of Bartowski Electronics Corporation. We must ensure your safety as well, although of course you won't be under bodyguard protection since no threats have been directed towards you personally. And Stephen, I'm afraid that yes, the bodyguards are necessary. We won't interfere with your life. If you'd rather hire private guards instead of use my people, or rely on whatever security you have here, that's your choice. But I'm afraid I must insist on the bodyguards for you.

(sound of silence except for a soft rustle of clothing)

SB: If you insist.

CB: He'll use your people, if that's alright.

SB: Charles… (sigh)

SW: (quietly) I know this is a difficult situation. A scary one. But if we don't act proactively, this could become very dangerous for you, Stephen. A situation that could leave your family wishing they had gotten more time with you.

SB: I understand my son's concern, don't get me wrong. And I will comply with his wishes. I just want to state for the record that I think this will turn out to be a complete overreaction.

CB: And I want to state for the record that I don't care if I'm overreacting. Like Detective Walker said, I'd rather err on the side of you living to enjoy your retirement. I think Mom and Ellie would agree.

SW: Believe me, we'd rather that it does turn out to be an overreaction. But until we know who really killed Robert Gerheart, you're under the protection of the Pinkerton Detective Agency.

SB: Of course. Thank you, Detective. Let's hope you clear this mess up soon.

CB: Yes. Thank you, Detective Walker.

SW: To start with, my assistants will begin working with your security people here to beef up your procedures. They're waiting in your office, Stephen.

SB: Right. Of course. I'll go meet with them now then…If that's all, Detective?

SW: Yes, Mr. Bartowski. (sound of a chair moving) I hope we'll be out of your hair soon.

(Another chair moves)

SB: I hope so, too. Thank you.

(Sound of footsteps and the opening and closing of a door)

(Sound of chairs moving)

SW: Thank you for helping me convince your father. He seems quite stubborn.

CB: (snorts) You should meet my mother. (pause) On second thought, you probably shouldn't.

SW: (soft chuckle) I'll keep that in mind if we need to expand protection.

CB: Do. And-And my dad? He doesn't mean to be, er, less than polite. I think he assumes what happened to Mr. Gerheart won't happen to him. But it can, and if he isn't careful, it will. He'll get used to it… (unsure) I'm sure.

SW: I take my job very seriously. More seriously than most of my clients. And I'm very good at it, if I do say so. Your father is in good hands.

CB: I don't doubt it at all, Detective Walker. And you should know that I'm grateful to Pinkerton for sending one of their best and most serious. I mean…their best. I'm sure you're one of the best. Because you're so…serious. (voice fizzles out)

SW: (amused) Now I know why you're living in a bachelor pad, if this is an example of your technique.

CB: (aghast) Hey! Is insulting your clientele part of the Pinkerton protocol? Because I feel like I should file a complaint, maybe. 'Detective did not display satisfactory level of sensitivity towards client's social inadequacies and general awkwardness'.

SW: You consider yourself inadequate and awkward? Funny, there's no evidence of that in your dossier. You're a good actor, Mr. Bartowski.

CB: Well, I was a hell of a Perchik in Fiddler on the Roof in high school. So they said. At the time.

(sound of papers rustling)

SW: Yes, your high school paper's review of the production was quite complimentary towards your performance.

(sound of a chair squeaking)

CB: Y-You have—That's in there? Really? Wow, that's pretty impressive. It doesn't have my first crush in there or anything, does it? Because Kindergarten was kind of an embarrassing time for me.

SW: Wouldn't you like to know. (pause) (sound of a throat being cleared) We should discuss when I can visit your residence and evaluate its security. Is tomorrow morning good for you?

CB: Uh, sure. Yeah. Well, uh—I work. I mean, I'll be heading in to work tomorrow. I leave in the morning.

SW: (crisply) What time?

CB: I like to get in by nine, usually.

SW: I'll meet you at your apartment at eight a.m.

CB: Oh. Okay.

(sounds of papers rustling)

SW: Until tomorrow, Mr. Bartowski. You should probably go to your office; my assistants will be visiting you there once they're done in your father's office.

CB: Right. I'll go straight there. (sound of a chair moving) Detective Walker. (pause) I-It's been a pleasure.

(sound of another chair moving)

SW: Good afternoon, Mr. Bartowski.

CB: Good afternoon. (pause) Uh, Detective?

SW: Yes, Mr. Bartowski?

CB: Thank you. Very much.

(pause)

SW: You're welcome.

(sound of a throat clearing)

CB: 'Til tomorrow, then.

(sound of a door opening and closing)

SW: End recording.


	2. The Detective in the Tech Guy's Closet

**The Detective and the Tech Guy**  
**Authors:** Steampunk . Chuckster & dettiot  
**Rating:** T  
**Summary:** A case of mistaken identity and murder brings Sarah Walker, Pinkerton agent, to sunny California. Protecting the heir to the Bartowski Electronics Corporation should be just business-but Chuck Bartowski fills out a suit nicely and makes a mean martini. Chuck lobbied to hire the Pinkerton Agency, but had no idea that the detective they'd send would be as alluring, intelligent and fascinating as Sarah Walker. Will the detective and the tech guy solve the mystery, distracted by the riddle in their own hearts? An homage to The Thin Man movies co-written by Steampunk . Chuckster and dettiot.  
**Disclaimer:** Neither of us own Chuck. If we did, there would have been a 1940s flashback episode. And a musical episode. And . . . you get the idea.  
**Author's Note 1:** So, wow. I'm not sure either of us was expecting the awesome response we got from our intro chapter. Not that I'm unaware of dettiot's expansive readership. And the fact that a Chuckster who sees her name attached to something can trust one hundred percent of the time that it is going to be a good read. All that aside, I was still super excited. Thank you so much, you guys! For the reviews, tweets, tumblr notes, reblogs, etc. I hope you keep reading and I hope you keep enjoying, because it's just going to get better from here on out!

XOXOXOXO

An emphatic pounding on his door made Chuck hurry from his bedroom, curious about who was knocking on his door at just past seven in the morning. Normally no one ever knocked on his door at this hour of the morning, but that was before his father had started receiving death threats and was nearly killed himself. Before Sarah Walker had come into his life and made plans with him for an eight o'clock meeting.

But it might not be her, after all. Whoever this guest was, they'd have to deal with seeing him in a robe with wet hair.

He opened the door and boggled. Looking pressed and polished in a black pinstriped suit, Sarah Walker was standing on his doorstep with a to-go cup of coffee and an annoyed expression.

"You're early," he croaked.

"Please tell me you checked through the peephole before you opened the door," she said, her heels letting her look him in the eye.

"Umm …" Chuck said, wishing he had gone faster on his run and finished his shower earlier so he could be dressed for this conversation.

Sarah rolled her eyes and pushed past him. "Mr. Bartowski, my job is to keep you and your father safe from the person who's already killed Bob Gerheart and wants to kill your father. But if you don't watch out for yourself, it won't matter how much I watch you."

Chuck swallowed. He knew his father was much more worried about Chuck's safety than his own; it had taken a lot of arguing on Chuck's part to make Stephen Bartowski agree to contact the Pinkerton Agency. But for some reason, his father thought Chuck was in more danger.

But being around a beautiful woman who made his knees turn to water …

He rolled his shoulders. "Well, then, make yourself at home while I get dressed."

"Nope," she said, taking a long swallow from her coffee. "Show me your closet."

For some reason, the absurdity of her request made Chuck grin. "Curious about whether it's boxers or briefs, Ms. Walker? Or just want to see where I sleep?"

Her glare could melt the polar icecaps. "I need to survey your entire apartment and evaluate any security gaps."

"So the assassin is hiding in my closet? Got it," Chuck said, heading for the stairs that wound up to his second-floor master suite. He could hear her heels clattering on the rare exotic hardwoods that floored the entire apartment, except for the ultra-thick carpeting in his bedroom.

He had bought this apartment for a song four years ago, right after he had graduated from Stanford. With some elbow grease and a lot of money, he had turned it into the perfect home for himself: big windows to let in light but with special refractive glass to eliminate heat; a rooftop deck with a few solar panels; and a large master bedroom and attached bathroom that contained a steam shower.

But even more important than how it looked was what it held: all his computers, his video game consoles, and the mementos of his life. And while he had plenty of friends come over and visit him on the first floor, he wasn't used to having someone else in his bedroom. Not lately, anyway.

Once he had stepped into his bedroom, Chuck opened the door to his closet and started rummaging through his suits. He glanced over his shoulder at Sarah Walker, whose eyes were sweeping around the room. "Well, Detective? Do you approve of my decorating?"

Sarah raised her eyebrows. "I wouldn't have pegged you as a modern guy, myself. Mid-Century Modern, maybe."

"Everyone does Mid-Century Modern now," Chuck said, picking a navy blue suit in a lightweight wool. "It's overdone."

He set aside the suit and hunted for a clean shirt, noticing how Sarah kept looking around the room. She sipped her coffee, looking lost in thought. And extremely hot.

When she stepped up beside him as he vacillated between white and pale blue shirts, he looked at her out of the corner of his eye. He had a hot woman in his closet. Although the fact that she was here to protect his life and wasn't there for any other reason definitely mellowed the tingle he felt.

At least, it should have.

Finally picking the white shirt, he grabbed his Chucks. "Anything else you want to see?" he asked, his hand resting on the knot holding his robe closed. "Because I'm ready to get dressed, and usually I don't give people a show unless they've bought me dinner first."

"Very funny, Mr. Bartowski," Sarah said, her voice cool and her eyebrows raised. "You should take this more seriously."

Chuck folded his arms over his chest. "Do you really think that? Or are you just toeing the company line?"

"Do I think there's a real threat here?" she asked, waiting for his nod before replying. "Yes, I do. One of your father's major competitors has been killed—a man who resembles your father. Someone that your father was ready to bury the hatchet with. Coupled with the threatening letters …" She gave an elegant shrug. "Death threats aren't to be joked around with."

Ever since yesterday's meeting, when Sarah Walker and the other Pinkerton staff had made their presentation about protecting Stephen Bartowski, Chuck had tried to laugh it all off. To act like this couldn't be happening. But if she thought it was serious …

He took a deep breath. "Okay, then. If you don't mind, I would like to get dressed in private. I can meet you downstairs afterwards and then I can take you through the apartment, let you see everything."

She looked at him, then nodded. "All right." She walked towards the door and Chuck turned towards the clothes he had laid out on the bed. He unknotted his robe and doffed it, tossing it onto the bed and leaving him in his boxer briefs.

"Oh, and Chuck?"

It was all he could not to yelp and cover himself. He turned towards the door, doing his best to stay calm and cool. "Y-yes?"

There was a devilish grin on Sarah's face. "Wear the blue shirt." She might have winked at him before she turned and left him alone. Chuck wasn't sure; everything was a blur beyond hot woman saw me in my underwear hot woman saw me in my underwear hot woman saw me in my underwear.

XOXOXO

Chuck Bartowski might be one of the more confusing men she had ever encountered in her work as a Pinkerton agent. He tried to act all glib and confident, charm oozing out of every pore. But then he'd drop it enough to let her see another side: sensitive, worried about his father, quirky.

Not that it mattered that much what she thought of him. She would protect his life because it was her job. The fact that she found him easy on the eyes and a witty conversationalist just made the job better for her.

After a few moments, he came down the stairs. Sarah noticed with approval that he had listened to her and gone with the blue shirt under his navy blue suit. "What, no hat?" she asked, drinking the last of her coffee.

"Nah, I don't like hats," Chuck said breezily. "And they're overdone, too. Breakfast?"

"I've already eaten," Sarah said. "And you need to give me the tour before I drive you to work."

"Nope."

"Excuse me, but nope?" Sarah repeated, following him into a kitchen of gleaming stainless steel appliances and glistening cobalt-blue glass tiles.

"Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. I always have something before I drive myself to the office."

Chuck shot her a glance as he filled a mug with coffee, then gestured towards her paper cup. "You want a refill?"

With a sigh, Sarah popped off the lid and held out her cup to him. He did need to eat, after all, and she had allotted plenty of time to allow for the tour of his apartment before he was due to report to work. That was part of the reason for arriving early for the their meeting. The other reason was to see how he handled being thrown a curveball. So far, he had passed with flying colors, which made Sarah willing to cut him a little slack.

Although she wanted him to switch up his schedule and start arriving at different times, so if the tour made him later than his normal arrival time at Bartowski Electronics, so much the better.

Taking a sip, she nearly moaned. Clearly, wealth had many advantages—including having the good stuff every day instead of once in a while. And if there was one thing Sarah Walker liked, it was good coffee that someone else had paid for.

With the movements of someone well-accustomed to what he was doing, Chuck moved around the kitchen, gathering supplies. She took a seat at the center island, watching as he deftly cut up some peppers and part of an onion, using some kind of high-tech gadget so his eyes wouldn't water. He paused at the refrigerator. "One egg or two?"

When she didn't respond, he glanced over at her. "You already ate, but if you were still hungry …"

It was on the tip of her tongue to refuse, but instead she just held up one finger to him. He grinned widely at her and took three eggs out.

Rather than keep watching him and feeling her stomach flutter at a well-dressed man making breakfast, Sarah set down her coffee cup and stood up, taking the loaf of bread Chuck had set out and putting a few slices into the toaster.

Within a few minutes, they had cheesy Western scrambled eggs and toast to go along with the excellent coffee. While Chuck shoveled in his food, Sarah ate slower, her mind cataloging what she needed to do. Get him to work, review the notes she had started on his apartment and determine what alarm system would work best, then meet with her assistants to see what they had learned so far. Then brief Mr. Bartowski and Chuck before driving Chuck back here.

Nothing too difficult to achieve. She had to admit that with this excellent food, it'd be easier to get through her day.

"So you cook, huh?"

Chuck paused, his fork halfway to his lips, before he smirked at her. "Unless you think there was some six-foot-four elf taking my place and doing the cooking, yes."

"Since you're being overly pedantic, I'll rephrase," Sarah said. "You cook pretty well."

"Thanks," Chuck said, shooting her a grin. "I always take a compliment where I can find one."

Sarah propped her chin on her hand. "Awww, was someone often overlooked growing up?"

His eyes sparkled. "Actually no. I was praised to the skies. But it's different when it's not your mother."

"Please don't tell me your mother is the most important woman in your life," Sarah said, injecting a note of disdain into her voice, even though she knew the smile blooming on her face undercut what she was saying.

Teasing him was fun. It wasn't often she found someone she could banter with like this. And why was she letting herself be distracted like this?

Straightening up, Sarah slid off her stool and carried her plate over to the sink. "Are we ready for that tour?"

Chuck looked at her, his eyebrow raised, then shrugged. "Okay. Let me just get the dishes done."

To her amazement, he insisted on rinsing all the dishes and sticking them into the dishwasher before escorting her around the apartment. With so much to do, so many details to absorb, Sarah was grateful to have her notebook and pen to take notes. Because it gave her something to focus on, something to keep her mind from wandering back to the line of his shoulders in his suit and the fact that he had gone with the shirt she had told him to wear.

This was not turning out like she thought it would.

End.


	3. Versus Apache Adventure Bot

**The Detective and the Tech Guy  
Authors**: Steampunk . Chuckster & dettiot  
**Rating**: T  
**Summary**: A case of mistaken identity and murder brings Sarah Walker, Pinkerton agent, to sunny California. Protecting the heir to the Bartowski Electronics Corporation should be just business-but Chuck Bartowski fills out a suit nicely and makes a mean martini. Chuck lobbied to hire the Pinkerton Agency, but had no idea that the detective they'd send would be as alluring, intelligent and fascinating as Sarah Walker. Will the detective and the tech guy solve the mystery, distracted by the riddle in their own hearts? An homage to The Thin Man movies co-written by Steampunk . Chuckster and dettiot.  
**Disclaimer**: Neither of us own Chuck. If we did, there would have been a 1940s flashback episode. And a musical episode. And . . . you get the idea.  
**Author's Note: **I always love reading Steampunk . Chuckster's take on Chuck. I think she does an amazing job at capturing his niceness, his kindness, and his goofiness. This version of Chuck also has confidence and charisma to spare, something that Steampunk . Chuckster really brings to life in this chapter. Plus, Apache Adventure Bot is just a hoot to imagine. :-)

XOXOXOXO

_Apache Adventure Bot_. 1990. Mint condition.

There were supposedly three copies they found in some boxes in the back of the Burbank Buy More and were going to be put on the main floor to be sold in less than ten minutes. Chuck had less than ten minutes to get to the Buy More or they'd be gone.

According to the text from Norman in the IT department of Bartowski Electronics Corporation, his brother Skip found them by chance and tried to smuggle them out but was caught by the branch manager. Skip was almost fired…but the most important thing was that Chuck had less than ten minutes to get a copy of _Apache Adventure Bot_. The one and only video game that he'd been looking for since he was a kid.

Chuck wrapped up his conversation with his father's PR rep and slammed his office phone into its cradle. "Crap, crap, crap. _Apache Adventure Bot. _Crap!" he muttered to himself, meanwhile leaping over his desk in an attempt to save the time it would take to step around it.

He grabbed his suit jacket and shoved one arm down the sleeve, whipping the door open that led into the hallway outside, rather than the one that led to his outer office. As he stepped into the hallway, his other arm swinging upwards as he shoved it into the other sleeve of the jacket, he heard a squeal and spun to find the source of the strange sound.

"Sar—Agent Detective Walker?!" He left his jacket a little askew in his shock at finding her there and embarrassment because he nearly leveled the beautiful Pinkerton Agent. She was staring at him with wide eyes still.

"I am _so _so sorry. I didn't see you. I'm on my way to…" To what? Buy a video game from 1990 that featured a pixelated robot that roamed the deserts of a post-apocalyptic world destroying oversized bugs and saving humankind? Would she judge him if he told her the intricate nature of the storyline? What if he told her he'd cried when he was ten because his parents wouldn't buy it for him due to the violent nature of the super bugs?

He reached up to tug the jacket into place and fix the lapel and collar as she continued to watch him with a professional smile.

"In a bit of a rush, Chuck?"

"Y—Yeah. Yes. I'm sorry I almost hit you. I really didn't mean to."

"I hope not. I'm pretty sure I could take you out with my pinky. Even though you kinda got the jump on me." She leaned around him. "What's this?" she asked, gesturing to the door.

"Huh?" He looked over his shoulder. "Oh. My office is in there."

She arched a pretty eyebrow. "I never noticed this door."

"Isn't it your job to notice things like that?" he teased, grinning widely. She just glared, her jaw working. His smile died completely. "Sorry."

Chuck cleared his throat and took in her appearance as subtly as possible. She wore the typical business attire, skirt and white blouse with a matching suit jacket, but she looked anything but typical in it. "So…what brings you here, S—" He almost corrected himself but she interrupted.

"You can call me Sarah. I won't throttle you."

"Ha!" he blurted, sounding a bit like a sea lion, shoving his hands in his pockets and feeling heat rush up from his collar.

She raised both eyebrows and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, the business-like air around her continuing. "Uh…I'm leading an investigation to find out why someone wants to hurt your father. And I was hired to protect you. That's why I'm here."

"Touché. Stupid question. As always, you have a very good reason for doing just about everything you do."

She paused, pursing her lips. Then she seemed to snap to attention. "Actually! Maybe you can help me—"

"Anything!" he said quickly. "Of course. Whatever I can do to help."

Sarah looked to be on the verge of laughing as she pulled the file from where it was tucked under her arm, opening it and scanning the page. Then she seemed to rethink the action and snapped it shut again, holding the file at her chest and looking up at him with her lips pursed. "Okay. Chuck. Is anything wrong? You're kind of jumpy."

"This has been a stressful day for me." He gave her a wan smile.

"I can tell. Just…breathe." She stepped closer, and he wondered if she knew how much worse that was making his ability to "breathe".

"Are you my bodyguard _and_ my yoga instructor now?"

"I can be." She gave a bouncy shrug that seemed a little less rigid than the Sarah Walker he'd gotten used to and he rocked back on his heels, finding he was breathing just fine suddenly.

"I might be interested in learning yoga. Do a little bit of that bridge pose in between meetings. Maybe you can teach me. As long as I don't end up in the corpse pose, am I right?" He spread his arms out as though he was saying 'ta da!' and grinned.

"Chuck." She frowned.

"That wasn't funny, was it?"

"Not at all."

"I apologize. Yoga jokes, not funny."

"Corpse jokes, not funny."

"It really is a yoga pose, though. It exists."

"I know that," she smirked. "But, uh…How do _you _know?" Sarah lifted a dubious eyebrow.

"Google. Duh."

She snorted and shook her head, opening the file again. "So that's what you CEO types do with your free time."

"Among other things." He bounced his eyebrows at her and pursed his lips.

It might have been his imagination, but he saw a hint of a blush on her cheeks as she looked down at the paper. "So, um, there's someone who runs PR at Bartowski Corp, name of Karl Gurgen."

"Good ol' Karl. Just got off the phone with him, actually."

"Right. Well, where's his office?"

"The PR department runs out of a separate location. North Hollywood. Karl does not have an office in our building."

She nodded. "Ohh, that explains so much."

"Like why Karl's not in the building directory?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah." He shrugged and pursed his lips. "It's in North Hollywood, the PR department. I can take you. If you want. Because you're probably still getting to know the Los Angeles area. It's a hop skip and a jump, really."

"You don't have to."

"Somebody's gotta guard my body." Chuck let a slow smile cross his face, noticing the way she bit the inside of her cheek. "Might as well be you. You'd probably be more effective against an army of muggers than the big beefy guys you brought with you."

She paused, her eyebrows shooting up into her hairline before settling again. "Well, I need to talk to Karl. So if you're coming, we need to get a move on."

"Of course. I'm yours." Chuck politely swept his arm in the direction of the elevator down the hallway.

"Let's go," she smiled and walked at a brisk clip away from him.

When they got to the elevator, he studiously watched the button he'd just pressed instead of looking at the excruciatingly beautiful woman standing at his shoulder. His iPhone suddenly buzzed in his back pocket.

He fished it out just as the elevator door dinged and slid open.

Chuck and Sarah stepped inside and the doors closed again, bringing them to the garage beneath the building.

He read the text from Norman, asking where he was, dude. And informing him that he'd missed out. All three copies were gone.

Chuck realized he should have been a lot more broken up about missing his chance to own a copy of _Apache Adventure Bot_. If he'd just left a minute earlier, he would have missed Sarah Walker and he would have gotten in his car and sped to the Buy More. _Apache Adventure Bot _would be in his hands right now.

But then…he would have missed Sarah Walker.


	4. Flirt on the Beach

**The Detective and the Tech Guy  
Authors**: Steampunk . Chuckster & dettiot  
**Rating**: T  
**Summary**: A case of mistaken identity and murder brings Sarah Walker, Pinkerton agent, to sunny California. Protecting the heir to the Bartowski Electronics Corporation should be just business-but Chuck Bartowski fills out a suit nicely and makes a mean martini. Chuck lobbied to hire the Pinkerton Agency, but had no idea that the detective they'd send would be as alluring, intelligent and fascinating as Sarah Walker. Will the detective and the tech guy solve the mystery, distracted by the riddle in their own hearts? An homage to The Thin Man movies co-written by Steampunk . Chuckster and dettiot.  
**Disclaimer**: Neither of us own Chuck. If we did, there would have been a 1940s flashback episode. And a musical episode. And . . . you get the idea.  
**Author's Note: **So you know how sometimes you write a fic because of something you yourself want to read? Like, say, ohhh, I don't know, the thing that Chuck isn't wearing in this chapter? Well, it turns out **dettiot **went ahead and wrote it instead. Which means I get to kick back and read it without doing any of the work. And _really _enjoy it, because she's such a great writer. That's what being a good writing buddy is about. Taking one for the team. She did all the work for us, you guys. And now...I present to you, written by the magnficent **dettiot**, shirtless Chuck. Erm...I mean...The Detective and the Tech Guy Flirt on the Beach.

XOXOXOXO

As a Pinkerton agent, Sarah Walker had traveled all over the country. She had spent January in Seattle, July in Washington, D.C., March in Boston and September in Texas. Even though she had only been in California a few weeks, she had to admit that California was pretty nice. Especially in late May, basking in a beautiful Southern California sunset.

Outside her corporate housing building was a jogging path to a pier overlooking the beach. In the evenings, she had gotten into the habit of going for a gentle run on the path and along the pier, before pausing to watch the sun set. A chance to let her mind wander, to meditate and find her center once again.

It wasn't like her. To take this kind of time. Especially when she was working. But she couldn't seem to help it. It seemed … necessary.

Sarah rested her arms on the railing of the pier and gazed out, watching the waves roll in to meet the beach. There was something peaceful about this. Something she liked, and—

Was that Chuck?!

Narrowing her eyes, Sarah leaned forward a little. She knew this area wasn't that far from Chuck's place, and she knew he enjoyed running on the beach. But according to her files, he never ran at night. But there he was, wearing shorts and a t-shirt and running along the hard-packed sand.

As she watched, he paused, jogging in place as he looked down at his watch. Then he peeled his shirt off and started running again.

What was he doing running by himself? Altering his patterns without telling her? Did that watch have GPS? Did he have his cell phone with him so he could be tracked or call for help?

She needed to get answers to these questions. So she ran for the stairs from the pier to the beach, easily closing the gap on him.

"Chuck!" she called out as she jogged up to him. But not before she had taken a moment to watch the muscles in his back flex as he moved.

He stumbled slightly on some loose sand as he turned, looking surprised. "Sarah?"

Thanks to her training, she was able to run her eyes down his torso without actually moving her eyes. And this was a good thing, because it let her examine him for future reference. There might be a situation where he would have to be identified by his chest.

"Hi," she said, giving him a professional smile. "I didn't know you ran at night."

"Yeah, sometimes … I had a breakfast meeting today, so …" he rambled as he fumbled with his shirt, pulling it on and shaking out his hair. "And you're running now, too!"

"I always run in the evenings. It helps me sleep."

"Ahhh," he said. "So you have trouble sleeping? Don't like warm milk?"

She made a face, prompting a laugh from Chuck. "Warm milk is only acceptable with brandy or rum in it," she said.

"I definitely agree with you there," he said, folding his arms over his chest. "But then, most every beverage is improved with alcohol."

"Really?" She quirked an eyebrow. "Like water?"

"That is one of the exceptions that prove the rule. I haven't found a liquor that improves water." Chuck grinned and kicked at the sand a little.

"True … after all, water works against alcohol. Making it weaker. As the term says, watering it down."

Chuck laughed, ducking his head. "Good one," he said, displaying his even, white teeth in a wide smile.

That smile had taken two years of orthodontia to achieve. It was pretty great work, she had to admit.

Sarah straightened her shoulders. "Well, I should let you get back to your run. Oh, did you bring your cell phone with you? It's important to have a way to contact you. And to track you in case something happened to you."

"Would you actually do that?" he asked, his eyebrows drawing together.

"If I thought you were in danger? Yes, of course. Standard Pinkerton procedure."

He eyed her. "Only if I was in danger? Not just because you might want to know where I am? It's okay, you can admit it. You can tell me that you just have to know my location 24/7, just in case you can't hold out against my charms any longer."

It was all so ridiculous, the way he flirted with her. The very fact that he was flirting, when she was in charge of protecting him, shouldn't be happening. Most men would use her job as a reason to hold her at arm's length. To treat her like the furniture. Not Chuck, though. The longer she had known him, the more he seemed to flirt.

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. I think someone's gotten too much air or something."

"Or something," Chuck agreed, grinning at her. "But you're right, I need to get back to my run." He pulled his phone out of his pocket, untangling the earbuds wrapped around the device. "And see? I have my phone. I feel like I should be rewarded."

Looking up at him, for some reason she felt a flutter in her stomach. But she sighed melodramatically and patted his shoulder. "Oh, Chuck, you can't get rewarded until you've worked a lot harder. And I've always heard that exercise is its own reward."

He let out a bark of laughter. "Okay, okay. Me, back to my workout. You, keep being strong and gorgeous, and I'll see you tomorrow."

Why did he say strong first? Like it was the most important part? Sarah gave her head a quick shake. "Yeah, of course. See you tomorrow."

Giving her a small nod, Chuck smiled and popped his earbuds in. Then he turned and started running back towards his apartment building, leaving Sarah alone on the beach.

Because it was her job, she watched him run away. That was all.


	5. The Detective and the Tech Guy Get Lit

**The Detective and the Tech Guy**  
**Authors:** Steampunk . Chuckster & dettiot  
**Rating:** T  
**Summary:** A case of mistaken identity and murder brings Sarah Walker, Pinkerton agent, to sunny California. Protecting the heir to the Bartowski Electronics Corporation should be just business-but Chuck Bartowski fills out a suit nicely and makes a mean martini. Chuck lobbied to hire the Pinkerton Agency, but had no idea that the detective they'd send would be as alluring, intelligent and fascinating as Sarah Walker. Will the detective and the tech guy solve the mystery, distracted by the riddle in their own hearts? An homage to The Thin Man movies co-written by **Steampunk . Chuckster** and **dettiot**.  
**Disclaimer:** Neither of us own Chuck. If we did, there would have been a 1940s flashback episode. And a musical episode. And . . . you get the idea.  
**Author's Note:** This chapter is yet another example of how **Steampunk . Chuckster** is an amazing writer. She takes the source material from The Thin Man and updated it to a modern setting, makes it work for this version of Chuck and Sarah and gives it a spark that makes it something new and different. This was one of the scenes that she told me about when she was describing this whole idea, and it might just have been this scene that made me ask if I could horn my way in. :-) I hope you enjoy reading this chapter as much as I did!

XOXOXOXO

Chuck burst down the stairs of his condo, making quite the racket. Sarah looked up from her book, perched on the comfortable living room couch, her hand twitching reflexively towards the knife strapped to her ankle.

She stopped and took in his appearance as he landed on the hardwood floors with a thump. He was wearing a slim cut charcoal suit with a white button up beneath, no tie, and oddly enough his black Converse sneakers. "What are you doing?"

"What d'you mean?" He grinned and shrugged his shoulders, crossing the room to the kitchen and opening a cupboard.

"Are you going to the office? Give me a second and drive you." She closed the book and buttoned her gray business blazer, smoothing it down her front as he watched in calm amusement.

"I'm not going to the office."

Sarah turned and fixed him with a flat look. "Well, you're not going anywhere else."

Chuck just grinned again. "Yeah, I am. And you're going, too."

She was silent, trying to ignore the broadness of his shoulders in that suit, or the way he'd actually fixed his hair a little with some product.

"We're going to a bar and we're drinking."

"Um, no. No, we're not." She unbuttoned the blazer and sat down again, picking up her book.

"Aw, c'mon! I can't stay in here all cooped up. I'm going out and you're going too."

"Fine. Go out. I'm not going, though."

"Why?" he half whined, setting down his glass and rounding the counter to move closer to where she was sitting.

"I'm on duty."

"I don't care."

"You should."

"I don't. Okay, look. We go to a bar, have a quick drink, come back. This has been a stressful week for both of us."

"Mr. Bartowski, your life might not be important to you, but it's important to your father, and it's important to my employer. You die, I get fired. And I like my job. It's a good job. Lots of benefits." She idly flipped the page of her book even though she hadn't read any of the words.

"Come oooon, Sarah Walker. Even Pinkerton detectives can have fun sometimes."

"Yeah, they can. And they do. When they're not on duty."

He plopped down on the chair a few feet away, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and raising an eyebrow. "That's the worst excuse I've ever heard."

She ignored the thrill that shot through her at the tone of his voice, how it seemed to come from deep in his chest, rumbling into her ears and down her spine. "I'm not putting your ass on the line like that." Her eyes slid up his legs, abdomen, chest, and finally settled on his brown gaze. "I think it's pretty good."

A slow smile spread across his features, starting in his eyes. Then he hopped to his feet and fastened a button of his suit jacket. "Welp. I'm going then. You know, anything happens to me while I'm at the bar, you're getting fired anyways. Might as well go with me. Stand more of a chance protecting me that way. Last chance."

"I'm not going."

XOXOXOXO

"My good man, a dry martini. Make that two dry martinis, actually." Chuck turned to grin at his companion for the night.

"Same for me," Sarah chirped, meeting his grin cheekily.

The bartender raised his eyebrows and turned away to prepare the drinks as Chuck leaned away to survey her with an impressed look on his face. "What happened to Agent I'm-On-Duty?" he asked.

"She remembered she likes alcohol…especially when someone else is paying." Sarah shrugged one shoulder and turned on her stool to look around the room. "And that she can drink any of these people under the table."

"Oh hooo, is that a challenge?"

"No," she answered seriously, giving him a look.

He raised his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay. Not a challenge. I'm just glad you came."

Pursing her lips to quell the smile that threatened at his sincerity, she turned back to the bar and watched the bartender line two martinis up in front of her first, then Chuck. "So am I. I think I needed this."

"Wound up?"

"A little," she confessed with a bounce of her shoulder.

"Yeah, me too. Never thought I'd be in this position—afraid for my dad's life, afraid of losing everything he's built up, our company, our livelihood…"

She wondered why he didn't mention that his life was potentially in danger as well. Was it because he didn't want to think about it? Or was it because he was too busy worrying about his father and the empire Stephen Bartowski had worked hard to build from the ground up?

Feeling a little breathless at that thought, she gave him a humorless smile. "I bet."

"You're used to all this intrigue, though, right? I mean, this is what you do all the time."

"Doesn't mean I don't get stressed. There's a lot riding on this investigation. It's not just embezzlement or some big honcho wanting to check on his employees. A lot of people can get hurt this time. Innocent people." She shrugged again, trying to make herself seem nonchalant, even though her words directly conflicted with the gesture.

"And it's your job to make sure that doesn't happen." He raised his glass to her and she clinked her own against it.

"Right."

"Well you're doing a bang-up job so far, m'lady, I must say." He downed the drink as though it was water and he'd been trapped in the desert for a week.

So she did the same and licked her lips a little, setting the glass down. "Thank you."

Chuck lifted his second glass with a raised eyebrow, then downed that one as well. She couldn't resist grinning his way as he immediately ordered more martinis.

"Where'd you learn to drink, if I may ask?" He turned to raise a questioning eyebrow over his shoulder as she downed her second martini. "What with your penchant for not drinking while 'on duty'," he teased, making bunny ears with his fingers.

She laughed. "I'm not on duty twenty-four seven," she said flatly, tapping the bar top in front of her for more drinks. "And I went to college."

"Oh yeah? Where?"

"Excuse me, but no. We're not getting into the personal stuff."

"What?" he gasped, his voice getting a little high pitched. "You get to know everything about me and I don't even get to know where you went to college? What kind of bull is that?"

She grinned and shrugged a shoulder cutely, taking her time with the third drink. Technically, telling Chuck personal information wasn't against Pinkerton protocol. This wasn't the CIA. Nothing bad could really happen to her professionally if Chuck knew where she went to school.

But Jack Walker was out there somewhere, still working con jobs, and as little as he'd lent to her personal success after he followed the unlawful path, he was her father.

More than that, though, she hadn't stopped Jack's actions when she probably could have. People were hurt, and while their injuries hadn't been physical, she'd done nothing to stop it from happening. And that more than anything made her keep quiet on the subject. She didn't want Chuck to know about that. She didn't want to see his warm brown eyes judge in that split second before he slid the polite mask in place in a belated attempt to not hurt her feelings.

Chuck just shook his head in playful disdain, downing his third drink and turning away from his fourth to look at the other people in the bar. "Fine, then. No personal stuff, even though you probably know things like what I named my favorite blankie as a toddler, and how long it took for me to be potty trained. My first crush in grade school," he added wistfully.

Sarah snorted, almost choking on the sip she'd just taken. Chuck gestured for water and she glared over the rim of the glass once the bartender handed it to her. Wiping her eyes of the tears, she made a face. "I don't know any of those things and I don't really want to."

"Oh? Not interested in my love life at all, are you? Not even a little?" He held his thumb and pointer finger up, about an inch apart.

"No. Thanks. Unless one of your ex-girlfriends is a murderess and has you in her sights next, I uh…don't wanna know."

"Ex-girlfriends. Hmmm."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "What?" she asked cautiously.

"It's just that you didn't say anything about my present girlfriend."

Sarah jolted and hid it by reaching for her drink, emptying it and taking her time putting it back down. "You don't have a present girlfriend."

"Aha!" He gave her a satisfied smile. "You do know about my love life."

"Oh come on. You have all the markings of a man in between girlfriends. It doesn't take a detailed dossier to know that," she snorted.

"Markings?" he asked dubiously. She noticed he was leaning a bit closer and the room was getting a bit warmer.

"Yeah. Markings."

Chuck snorted. "Only markings I know of is a birthmark on my—"

"Nope! Stop!"

"Arm."

She turned to look at him, watching the slow smile grow on his face again and she had to laugh.

Forty minutes passed in which they talked about everything that wasn't personal, knocking back drinks, Chuck playing air guitar to the music in the background as his ears turned redder and his eyes became blearier. She learned a good deal about electronics and why Playstation would always be better than Xbox, in Chuck's opinion, even though he owned both game systems and their successors.

They finally stumbled down the hallway to Chuck's condo after spending nearly an hour inside the bar, Sarah supporting a good deal of Chuck's weight. He felt warm against her side, his arm wrapped securely around her shoulders, the fingers of his large hand clenching her upper arm, his face close to hers.

She was buzzed, tipsy, maybe even a little drunk, but she'd stopped drinking after the fourth, instead letting Chuck indulge as much as he felt was necessary. Why not?

She was here to protect him, and maybe he'd be a little easier to protect if he was passed out on his bed until morning instead of getting into trouble. Easier than shooting him with a tranq dart, at least.

They stopped at his door and she made sure he could stand straight before she slipped her arms from around him. She'd since pulled her blazer off and had it draped over one arm, her red blouse a little less vibrant than usual in the darkness of the hallway. "Let me see your keys, Mr. Bartowski."

"Mr. Bartowski is my dad. I'm Chuck."

"Your keys."

He pulled them out of his pants pocket and dangled them. "There." Then he stuffed them back in his pocket.

"I meant to open your door."

"You just said you wanted to see 'em." His eyes seemed a bit clearer after being hit in the face by the winter night air. Which meant he wasn't as drunk as all that. Which meant he was definitely flirting.

She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning wildly. "You better hand over those keys."

"Or what?"

"I kick your ass."

"Then you'll have to explain why you had to kick my ass and why your breath smells like martinis and hey, aren't you supposed to be on duty?" He gave her a toothy grin and leaned against the door, crossing his arms.

She stared at him, her features immovable. Then she stepped closer, even while her heart thudded against her ribcage at his close proximity. He seemed to lose a little of his cockiness as she looked up into his eyes.

His Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he unfolded his arms and made to take a step back.

Sarah pounced and grabbed his wrist, spinning him and slamming his front into the door. She held one arm behind his back with her left hand and shoved her other hand into his pocket. A moment later she pulled back with his keys in her hand and let him go.

Sarah unlocked the door and swung it open, mockingly dangling the keys in his face as he just had. Then she swept her arm to the side and gestured for him to enter, bowing her head. "Ladies first," she said in a formal tone.

Even while he gaped, there was so much amusement brimming in his brown eyes that she almost grabbed his face and kissed him. Instead she watched him go in, taking a moment to admire the way his ass looked in his slacks before stepping inside and shutting the door behind her.


	6. Play Dress Up

**The Detective and the Tech Guy  
Authors**: Steampunk . Chuckster & dettiot  
**Rating**: T  
**Summary**: A case of mistaken identity and murder brings Sarah Walker, Pinkerton agent, to sunny California. Protecting the heir to the Bartowski Electronics Corporation should be just business-but Chuck Bartowski fills out a suit nicely and makes a mean martini. Chuck lobbied to hire the Pinkerton Agency, but had no idea that the detective they'd send would be as alluring, intelligent and fascinating as Sarah Walker. Will the detective and the tech guy solve the mystery, distracted by the riddle in their own hearts? An homage to The Thin Man movies co-written by Steampunk . Chuckster and dettiot.  
**Disclaimer**: Neither of us own Chuck. If we did, there would have been a 1940s flashback episode. And a musical episode. And . . . you get the idea.  
**Author's Note: **In which 'dressy casual' is finally explained! I think one of the most fun parts of writing this story is taking small things in canon and working them into our universe. **dettiot** does a choice job at it in this chapter especially, I think. Not only that, but in this chapter she wrote one of the most beautiful (in my humble opinion) moments of Charah she's written to date. So without further ado, settle in and enjoy.

Oh, one more thing. This chapter has a dress code. It's dressy casual.

XOXOXOXO

"Dressy casual? What the hell does that mean?"

Chuck stared at the invitation he had just received to his sister's wedding.

_Eleanor Bartowski Woodcomb and Devon Woodcomb_

_Invite You to Join Us_

_As We Celebrate Our Marriage_

_Saturday, June 12_

_Beginning at 4:00pm_

_Cabrillo Beach, San Pedro, California_

_Dressy Casual_

_Clambake and Fish Fry_

_Open Bar_

Actually, Ellie and Devon had eloped four months ago—during a drunken Valentine's Day jaunt to Las Vegas—much to the chagrin of their mothers. It had taken this long for Ellie to work her way back into Mary Bartowski's graces, thus the beach party to "celebrate the wedding".

But dressy casual … he had no idea what that meant. And lately, when he didn't understand something, there was only one person he wanted to ask.

It was one thing to go to Sarah Walker with questions about security or how to better protect his father, though. It was something very different to ask for her help with dress codes.

However … she was a woman—and what a woman, he thought idly. And women knew about dress codes.

Chuck swiveled back and forth in his Swedish ergonomic desk chair, mulling this over. Ever since their drinking escapades a few weeks ago, he'd noticed the beautiful Pinkerton agent seemed to be loosening up around him. Not when they were in mixed company, of course. Then she was all business. But when it was just the two of them, her mask dropped, revealing a funny, smart, flirtatious woman. A woman he really liked spending time with. Someone he could imagine getting closer to.

It might not happen while she was on the job. He could understand her not wanting to muddy the waters by dating a client. But once the case was solved? Why couldn't they date then?

Of course, he might just be lost in dreamland. But it was something to think about. And until she said flat out that she wasn't interested in him, he was going to make sure she knew that he was most definitely interested in her. So between that and this invitation, he had an idea.

Lifting up the invitation from the desk, he tucked it into the back pocket of his jeans and headed off towards the cubicle that Sarah had been assigned near his office. He loped through the halls, nodding and smiling and high-fiving with the people he walked past, until he reached her desk.

Sarah was leaning back in her own desk chair, her feet up on the desk and a bunch of files in her lap. The image was much too tempting for him not to linger for a moment, to put off announcing his presence just yet. Because she made quite an image.

Her feet were in a pair of high black pumps, her ankles daintily crossed one over the other, and her skirt ended a few inches above her knees. That left what seemed like miles of tanned, smooth, finely-muscled legs for him to enjoy viewing.

Chuck had never considered himself a leg man. He might have to reconsider that.

Before he got too carried away, he cleared his throat and moved into her cubicle, half-leaning against, half-sitting on her desk. Sarah raised one eyebrow as she looked up at him. "Getting comfortable, Mr. Bartowski?"

"Might as well," he said with a grin. "Since I'm going to have to persuade you for some help."

Now both eyebrows went up. She pushed back from her desk a little, bringing her legs down and sitting up straight in her chair. "Did you come bearing martinis and chocolates? Because otherwise, my help is hard to gain."

He snapped his fingers. "Darn. Knew I forgot something. I'll owe you one if you can explain this." He held the reception invitation out to her.

Sarah eyed it, then looked up at him. "It's a wedding invitation."

"I did get that," Chuck said, rolling his eyes. "No, I meant the dress code. What, to a female, is 'dressy casual'?"

"Hmmm, let me get Emily Post on the line and I'll find out for you." Her tone was dry and cutting, but there was a sparkle in her eyes.

"Seriously, I need to know. And you always look great, so I figured you'd know."

"Why don't you just ask your sister?" Sarah asked, tilting her head to one side. "She'd know what she meant."

"If I ask her, she'll do that really heavy sigh that big sisters perfected back in the Garden of Eden and say 'It's so simple, Chuck'. And my sister already thinks my brains are a bit suspect, with how I've stayed in the family bosom." Chuck tucked the invite back into his pocket. "If I promise you martinis, chocolate, and a large bouquet of your favorite flower, will you tell me what you think?"

Sarah looked at him, then grinned. "First you'd have to guess what my favorite flower is. But rather than keep you guessing until Doomsday, I'll tell you. It's gardenias. I like them loosely arranged, in a medium-height vase. Natural yet elegant." She lifted the files off her lap and set them on her desk before standing up. "C'mon, let's go."

"Go?" Chuck spluttered, rising to his feet. "What do you mean?"

"'Dressy casual' means a linen suit or loose-fitting trousers and a button-down, all in pale colors. And since you have none of those items in your closet, this means you have to go shopping." Sarah's smile as she explained all this to him was wide, delighted, and slightly feral.

"I should have known letting you into my closet was a bad idea," Chuck said, running a hand through his hair. "Okay, then, Obi-Wan of Closets. Take me shopping."

It wasn't until they were halfway to the employee parking garage that Chuck realized something. His whole family would be at this shindig. That meant that Sarah would have to be there, as the Pinkerton agent responsible for protecting his father and himself. And that meant she'd need something dressy casual for herself.

He felt a grin grow on his face, a grin that was definitely less scary than Sarah's earlier smile, as he contemplated how she would react to him buying her a dress.

XOXOXOXO

Although she could never admit it to Chuck, she was pleasantly surprised to find he was easy to shop with. Sure, he seemed to like clothes and could dress himself very well, but he could have a personal shopper who picked out his clothes. But within a half hour, it was clear that Chuck actually did the hard work.

"The linen suit is a good idea, but don't they come in colors other than white?" he asked as they flipped through several clothing racks. "I'd feel like Colonel Sanders in this." He held up a crisp white suit.

She couldn't help laughing. "Not a good look for you." When she spied one in a creamy pale beige, a few shades lighter than tea, she grabbed it and held it up to him.

He looked down. "You think this would work?"

Looking up at him, she grinned. "Yeah." The color of the suit set off his skin, highlighting his tan. With the right dress shirt—a pale blue, or maybe something with stripes—it'd be perfect for a beach reception.

"Here, hold this," she said, pushing the suit into his arms and heading to the dress shirts. Within a few moments, she had picked a blue shirt and a coordinating tie. "There. Perfect."

Chuck eyed her. "I'm going to try this on. Then we'll see about perfect."

Giving him a wide smile, she took a seat in a chair near the dressing rooms and whipped out her phone. "I want an extra martini after this, because you doubted me."

He didn't say anything else, just headed for the dressing room, mumbling under his breath. While he changed, she sorted through a few emails and checked her schedule for tomorrow.

"Well?"

"One second," she said, holding a finger up as she finished reading an email. When she was done, she looked up and felt her eyes widen.

Chuck was leaning against the doorway, his hands in his pockets. If she didn't know him better, she would say he had selected a pose that would make him look even more attractive. As it was … he looked amazing. The suit struck a balance between showing his body and being loose and relaxed. As she had suspected, the color was ideal for him, and he just looked …

Swallowing, Sarah stood up. "Good."

Chuck smiled at her. "Yeah? I have to admit you were right."

Reaching out, she adjusted his tie a little. "That's why you should always listen to me."

"I thought I already did," he said, leaning again. "I'll have to be more obvious about it from here on out."

His cocky yet sweet response made her regain her equilibrium. "And now you know what dressy casual is."

"Great. Let me change back into my clothes and pay for all this, then we can get your dress."

Sarah blinked. "Pardon me?"

"My whole family will be at this party. So you'll need to be there. Ergo, you'll need a dress."

"I'm sure I have something in my closet that will work …"

"You brought your entire wardrobe with you?" Chuck asked, raising his eyebrows.

She grimaced. "Fine! Change!"

His grin should be illegal, it was so mischievous. He must have been able to get away with murder as a small boy.

As soon as he had changed, Chuck steered her over into the womenswear department. She half-expected him to suggest ridiculous and outlandish choices, dresses she would never wear, but instead he hung back. When she held up a dress, he would nod or shake his head, often with a comment that made her take a second look before silently agreeing with him.

Soon she had an armful of dresses, but was secretly leaning towards a dress that Chuck had liked: a long strapless dress, patterned with blue and green vines on a pale cream background. She could almost feel the skirt swish around her legs.

Once she got it on, she spent a minute tugging on the zipper, trying to get it more than halfway up. Nothing seemed to get it up, not even her sure-fire trick of jumping up and down as she yanked on the zipper. Finally, there seemed to be no other option but opening the door a little and calling out, "Chuck?"

He looked up from the issue of _Wired_ he was flipping through, then walked over to the door. "What is it?"

She opened the door wider and turned the side with the half-zipped zipper towards him. "I need some help with this."

When she looked up at him, she suddenly realized just how intimate this moment was. He knew she wasn't wearing a bra. He could see the skin of her side, could brush his fingers against her skin as he eased the zipper down—up, up!

"Do you need some help, dearie?"

The grandmotherly woman who was in charge of the dressing rooms suddenly appeared. Chuck turned on his heel without a word, returning to the chairs in the waiting area. Sarah swallowed and turned to the woman, getting her help with the zipper.

The moment when she stepped out of the dressing room was bound to be awkward. But all she could focus on was how good it felt to have Chuck gaze at her with a stunned look on his face. To know he was stunned by her.

"Wow."

"Yeah?" she asked hesitantly. She turned towards the full-length mirror, twisting back and forth.

"Yeah," he said, suddenly appearing behind her, looking at her in the mirror. Something about their eyes meeting in the mirror … it was different from looking at him face-on. With him so close to her, there was a tingle in the air. And having him look at her, his amber brown eyes the same color as whisky and twice as intoxicating …

Sarah turned around and took a step away from him. "Thank you for the help. I think I'll go with this one."

Chuck nodded. "Great." Was it her imagination, or was his voice a bit deeper than normal? "Um, just, go ahead and change and I'll pay for it."

"What?" she asked, blinking at him. "You'll pay?"

"You wouldn't have to buy this dress if it wasn't for me. So it only seems right that I pay for it. And because I can't figure out what kind of gift I can give you that says 'Thank you for protecting me'."

Oh, this was so unprofessional. Pinkerton agents were not permitted to accept gifts from clients. She had a very generous expense account, and this dress would be a perfectly valid use of it. But, for some reason, she found herself nodding.

And that made Chuck smile at her. So bright and big that she felt like she had swallowed the sun. It was something she had never felt before, something she really liked feeling.

Something she shouldn't be feeling.

She couldn't stand here and keep looking at Chuck smile at her. Sarah took a step back, then turned and hurried into the dressing room, needing to have more protection for herself than this gorgeous floaty beautiful dress. The dress that Chuck was going to buy for her.


	7. The Cell Phone

**The Detective and the Tech Guy  
Authors**: Steampunk . Chuckster & dettiot  
**Rating**: T  
**Summary**: A case of mistaken identity and murder brings Sarah Walker, Pinkerton agent, to sunny California. Protecting the heir to the Bartowski Electronics Corporation should be just business-but Chuck Bartowski fills out a suit nicely and makes a mean martini. Chuck lobbied to hire the Pinkerton Agency, but had no idea that the detective they'd send would be as alluring, intelligent and fascinating as Sarah Walker. Will the detective and the tech guy solve the mystery, distracted by the riddle in their own hearts? An homage to The Thin Man movies co-written by Steampunk . Chuckster and dettiot.  
**Disclaimer**: Neither of us own Chuck. If we did, there would have been a 1940s flashback episode. And a musical episode. And . . . you get the idea.  
**Author's Note: **When we discussed this chapter, I knew 100% that I wanted **dettiot** to write it. Not just because she's a fantastic action writer, but because I knew she would handle the emotions that went along with it. It's such a serious twist, an emotional upheaval, and my writing buddy handled it like a pro. When I read it, I was so on the edge of my seat that I literally almost fell off of it. So make sure you're all nice and scooted back in your chair proper-like. And enjoy this chapter!

XOXOXOXO

As she ran through the corridors of Bartowski Electronics, Sarah Walker cursed her choice of shoes. Why would a woman in her line of work wear three-inch heels? Just because Chuck Bartowski had a good six inches on her and she liked knowing that even in her highest shoes he was still taller than her and she hated getting a crick in her neck from craning to look into his spectacular eyes, it was no excuse to wear such impractical footwear.

She had let herself get lulled into bad habits. Habits that might get Chuck killed. And if Chuck Bartowski died because it was her fault, she would never be able to forgive herself. Not simply because she had failed in her job, but because … because she—

Throwing open the door to his office, Sarah ignored Chuck's secretary and barrelled towards the door to the inner office. "Chuck!" she yelled as she got closer, desperate to get to him before it was too late.

When she set foot into his office, there was a collection of sensory flashes that told her what was going on. Tinny music coming from the cell phone on Chuck's desk. The slightest plasticky odor in the room. And Chuck, reaching for the phone, naturally responding to the ringing phone by answering it.

"No, don't!" she shrieked, diving to simultaneously knock aside the phone and push him out of the way.

And then came the explosion.

XOXOXOXO

_Two hours earlier …_

For years, Bartowski Electronics had made sizeable contributions to local charities. Therefore, there were many times when a senior member of the company had to attend galas, receptions, or benefit concerts, in order to be recognized. Due to his mother's lack of interest in the company and his father burying himself in his newest project, that responsibility had increasingly fallen to Chuck.

That was why he was shaking hands and engaging in small talk with several of southern California's wealthiest entrepreneurs on a Tuesday morning, a cup of coffee in his free hand. Although he felt like all he was doing was avoiding questions he couldn't answer.

"Any news about that ugly business with Gerheart, Chuck?"

"When is your father going to release that top-secret project of his, Mr. Bartowski?"

"And who's this pretty little lady?"

Finally, something he could answer! Even if the question came from "Bronco" Billy Barton, a Texas businessman who had never heard of "too much information."

Chuck turned and drew Sarah a bit closer, resting his hand in the middle of her back. "This is Sarah Walker, an old friend of the family who's visiting for the summer."

"Keeping you company, eh, Charles?" Bronco's eyebrows, which were full and bushy, waggled as he eyed Sarah. Chuck could feel Sarah stiffen under his hand. "Bet she's taking care of you real good."

"You don't know the half of it, Bronco," Chuck said, quickly steering Sarah away. In a low voice, he said, "Sorry about that."

"It's not like you stood there slapping your thigh as you talked about how I 'take care of you'," Sarah said, looking up at him. She stepped away from him enough that his hand was left hanging in the air instead of against her back. "I'm going to get some more coffee."

"Okay," Chuck said softly, watching as Sarah walked over towards the refreshment tent. Ever since they had gone shopping for Ellie's reception, things had been a bit … tense. He wasn't quite sure why, but the easy camaraderie between them had definitely taken a hit. And to Chuck's dismay, he found that he really missed her. He missed having drinks together, laughing and talking. He missed making her smile, hearing her tease him, getting to watch her beautiful, engaging face.

With a small sigh, he turned, bumping into another guest. "Sorry," he said, resting his hand on the other man's shoulder in order to steady himself. Chuck didn't recognize him, but then, he certainly didn't know everyone in the greater southern California business community.

He went back to pressing the flesh, trying not to let his problems with Sarah distract him from his job. But he resolved that he was going to find a way to get through to her. Just because she was protecting him didn't mean they couldn't be friends. And since he was determined that as soon as the job was over, she would know how not-friendly his feelings for her were, friendship was a good place for now.

Unfortunately, Sarah seemed to sense what was up, because during the drive back to Bartowski Electronics, she carried on a long, in-depth phone call to someone. Given the amount of yelling she was doing, Chuck left her alone. But once he was in his office, he picked up his phone and called her extension.

"Sarah Walker," she said, her voice full of quiet competence.

"Sarah, can we talk, please?" he asked.

"What is it, Chuck?" she asked absentmindedly. He could almost make out the sound of papers shuffling on her end of the line.

"You used to like me. What changed?"

Dead silence. He waited and waited, until finally he had to make sure she was still there. "Sarah?"

The sound of her clearing her throat came over the line. "This isn't appropriate, Chuck."

"I get that as long as you're working for my dad, nothing can happen," he said, pacing as much as the phone cord allowed. "But there's nothing that says we can't be friends."

"Actually, there is," she said. "Being friends would lower my guard too much. Let someone slip in and hurt you."

"That's ridiculous," Chuck said. "C'mon, you'd be like a tiger if someone tried to hurt me. Because you like me."

"I'd be like a tiger, as you put it, for any client," Sarah said a bit primly.

"You can't tell me that you don't miss me buying you drinks and making you laugh," Chuck challenged. "And it lets you stay close to me, watch me, without attracting any attention. This distance between us, it's not good."

He was pretty sure he was pushing too hard. That she'd make some cutting little speech and hang up on him. But to his shock, Sarah stayed silent for a moment, before quietly admitting, "You might be right."

His knees felt a bit unsteady, so Chuck sank down into his desk chair. "Y-yeah?"

"Yeah." She blew out a breath. "Okay. It's nearly lunch time. I'll grab some sandwiches and we can go eat outside in the courtyard."

Chuck couldn't help grinning. He'd done it. He'd gotten through to her. They could go back to spending time together. He'd get a chance to show her just how perfect they were for each other. Feel that thrill he got from bantering with her, watching her eyes sparkle as she tossed the perfect come-back at him. Because nothing was as exciting as talking to Sarah Walker.

"That sounds awe—"

The ringing of a cell phone—a ring tone that he didn't recognize—made Chuck stop mid-word. "What's that?" he muttered, looking for the source of the noise.

"Chuck?" Sarah asked.

He drew a Nokia candybar phone out of his jacket pocket. "I've got somebody's cell phone. They're calling me."

"What?" He could hear the change in her voice, how she went from Sarah to Pinkerton Agent Walker.

"It's a restricted number, calling this cell phone that I found in my jacket."

"Don't do anything—don't answer it! I'll be right there."

"Sarah?" he said. "Sarah?"

But she had left, not even bothering to hang up the phone.

Chuck set the phone down on his desk, looking at it curiously. What was going on?

The phone kept ringing, the jaunty little tune quickly growing annoying. He reached for the phone, hoping there was a way he could change the phone's ringer to vibrate, when Sarah burst into his office.

And then everything went white and silent.

XOXOXOXO

Dust hung in the air heavily. Her ears were ringing and Sarah shook her head, feeling the disorientation that came from temporary deafness. She coughed and looked around, trying to see in the dim emergency lights. Trying to remember just what had happened.

Something—no, someone—stirred beneath her. Squinting, Sarah realized it was Chuck. And suddenly, she remembered.

"Chuck!" she said, unsure whether she whispered or shouted his name. She crawled up enough to see his face. There was blood gushing from a cut at his hairline, and his skin was covered in powdery dust.

Sarah quickly ran her hands over him and said his name again. "Chuck!" Her ears were finally beginning to clear, so she could hear just how worried and upset she sounded. "Chuck! Answer me!"

He let out a raspy cough, his body shaking. Then he winced. "Ooomph."

That little moan of pain sounded beautiful. It meant he wasn't seriously hurt. "Chuck? Does anything hurt?" she asked, trying to sound no-nonsense. Trying to keep her hands from shaking as she touched him, checking for broken bones or wounds.

"My head …" he muttered, one hand gesturing up towards the wound just above his forehead.

"Shhh," she said. "Easy, there." She pressed her hand against the oozing blood, trying to balance the need to apply pressure with not wanting to cause him any further pain.

Chuck's eyes fluttered open, revealing those same beautiful whisky eyes that she— "What happened?" he croaked.

She licked her lips, barely noticing the acrid taste of the dust that also covered her face. "The phone you found—it must have been a bomb."

"What?" he yelped, trying to sit up. "A bomb?"

"Don't move!" she said, gently pushing him back down. "You might have a spinal injury."

"Sarah …" he said, confusion and worry and fear on his face. "Why would someone want to blow me up?"

"I don't know, Chuck," she said, giving in to her urge and lightly stroking his hair. "Stay still."

His hand settled on her side, stroking up and down slowly. "Are you okay? You're okay, right?"

It was all she could do not to sigh and press into her hand. And that was the strangest reaction for her to have, after surviving a bomb blast that might have killed her … her client. She did her best to smile at him, even though she could already feel the bruises forming and she was pretty sure her back was a mass of small cuts. "I'm fine, Chuck."

He was starting to look woozy. Whether it was from a potential head injury or simply the loss of blood, she couldn't tell. "Liar," he said, slurring a little.

Sarah turned and yelled loudly. "Help! We need help here!" She turned back to Chuck. "Hang in there, Chuck. Help will be here soon."

"Don' need help. Jus' need you …"

She didn't know what to say to that. Didn't know how to respond. She knew that Chuck was drawn to her … as much as she was to him. But it was something they hadn't talked about, hadn't put into words. Not until today, first with Chuck's no-holds-barred phone call, and now with his soft, dazed words.

Swallowing, she looked at him, ready to respond with more words of comfort, only to find that he had passed out. So instead, she turned and started hollering, fumbling in her pockets for her phone.

Chuck needed medical attention. And Sarah had to find the person responsible for this. Because she wasn't going to let anyone hurt him again.

End.


	8. The Tech Guy's Sweet Tooth

**The Detective and the Tech Guy  
Authors**: Steampunk . Chuckster & dettiot  
**Rating**: T  
**Summary**: A case of mistaken identity and murder brings Sarah Walker, Pinkerton agent, to sunny California. Protecting the heir to the Bartowski Electronics Corporation should be just business-but Chuck Bartowski fills out a suit nicely and makes a mean martini. Chuck lobbied to hire the Pinkerton Agency, but had no idea that the detective they'd send would be as alluring, intelligent and fascinating as Sarah Walker. Will the detective and the tech guy solve the mystery, distracted by the riddle in their own hearts? An homage to The Thin Man movies co-written by Steampunk . Chuckster and dettiot.  
**Disclaimer**: Neither of us own Chuck. If we did, there would have been a 1940s flashback episode. And a musical episode. And . . . you get the idea.  
**Author's Note: **You might think this chapter is being posted today because it's Halloween. Well, it's not-it's just a happy accident. And really, those are the only good kind of accidents. Speaking of accidents, things have definitely changed for Chuck and Sarah after that cell phone explosion in his office. How will the two of them cope with those changes? Steampunk . Chuckster does a fantastic job with this chapter, so I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did! And happy Halloween!

XOXOXOXO

They always show awkward elevator rides on television and in movies. Comedians work the awkward elevator ride routine into their stand-up occasionally.

But nothing either Sarah or Chuck had seen could rival the awkwardness of this particular elevator ride.

They stood on either side of the elevator car, leaning back against their respective walls, Sarah looking down at her crossed arms and Chuck staring up at himself in the mirrored ceiling. Things had been less comfortable between them since the cell phone bomb that exploded in his office, and she knew it was mostly her fault. But the sight of Chuck lying beneath her with blood and dust caking his face had haunted her for two weeks now. And every time she spotted the bruises on his body as he padded and winced around his apartment in the days after he was released from the hospital, or the bandage the covered the stitches that had been required for his head wound, her stomach flipped uncomfortably.

Now the bruises were mostly healed so that he insisted he was perfectly fine. But he still wore a small bandage over the stitches along his hairline. It served as a reminder to Sarah of what she almost lost. Rather, how she nearly failed to do her job.

It had been a rough day for both of them, and getting chewed out by Chuck's mom again hadn't improved it any. She'd already gotten a similar dressing down from the older woman at the hospital while Ellie stitched him up in the other room, very soon after the explosion. Sarah hadn't been in the right mindset as she would have been had it been any of her prior clients. And even while she wasn't exactly prepared for the barrage of accusatory language thrown at her, she'd dealt with it appropriately.

The second lecture had fazed Sarah as much as the first had—which was not at all, frankly. She was used to being berated by clients and their families. And Sarah was already frazzled enough about the near-death experience and how much of a part her inaction had in his being injured in the first place.

If she hadn't put so much distance between herself and Chuck after she dragged him dress shopping—_No, wait. I didn't drag him dress shopping. I dragged him off to buy him a suit and then he dragged _me _off to buy me a dress—And we both have a knack for getting each other to do things we shouldn't be doing._

Maybe she could have noticed something if she hadn't ran so far away. She would have seen whoever planted the phone on Chuck. While pursuing anything more than a friendship with the Bartowski heir would be disastrous, she didn't have to pull away completely. Her ability to do her job had been compromised by her fear of getting too close.

But Chuck's mother had insisted on throwing superficialities like "how much is my husband paying for this?" at Sarah, accusing her of drawing the investigation out in order to squeeze the family for more money. And as the job dictated, she answered calmly and politely, always professional and business-like, apologetic and reassuring. The woman left in a swirl of perfume and discontent and slithered in the direction of Chuck's office.

Sarah was certain Mary Bartowski had repeated to her son her worries about Pinkerton's inability to successfully conduct the investigation, because Chuck's face was still red when he emerged from his office a few hours later, his features twisted into a scowl—something she didn't see often on him. And he was abnormally quiet when she drove him back to the apartment at the end of the workday.

She saw that Chuck clutched a paper bag in one hand, his briefcase in the other, chewing on his cheek as he lowered his head and caught her eye. Then he smiled. She sent a halfhearted smile back.

"What's in that bag of yours?" she finally asked as their elevator car slowly climbed up each level of the building.

"Replacement for what we drank last night," he answered, tucking his briefcase under his arm and freeing his other hand to pull a large bottle of gin out of the bag. He bounced his eyebrows a few times and she pursed her lips, trying not to smile.

"You did most of the drinking, if I remember correctly. I was on duty."

"Yeah, because that stopped you the first time. I know you." Sarah felt a mixture of warmth and discomfort at his proclamation and she looked down at the black pumps she wore on her feet, trying to persuade herself he actually didn't know her at all. "You're a woman who can't resist good gin."

"I can!" she shot back, though knowing what he said was true.

"Well, you sure did a great job of it last night, Sarah." His eyes were shining brightly beneath his bandage and she felt compelled to give him a flirty little one-shouldered shrug.

"I can't help it if you make a fantastic martini."

Chuck's face softened at that and she knew she'd found the way to this man's heart in particular. Compliment him on his martini-making skills. "Well, you throw 'em back like a champ."

Sarah narrowed her eyes at him and his ears turned red. "That was meant to be a compliment, by the way."

"Hm. Charming," she teased, watching him as he slipped the bottle of gin back into the bag and clutched his suitcase in his hand again.

The ding sounded as the elevator reached the fifth floor and they stepped off, wandering down the hallway towards Chuck's apartment. They were silent the whole way, and silent again when he opened the door and let her inside.

"I'm gonna fix myself some ice cream. Want some?" he asked quietly, walking around her and heading into the kitchen. He set the gin to the side of the sink and turned to look at her questioningly.

"Uh, no. No thanks. Wait, ice cream? Did you already eat at the office?"

He blinked at her in slight confusion. "Uh…no. Why?"

"You're having ice cream before dinner?"

He chuckled, producing the carton of vanilla bean ice cream from the freezer and setting it on his counter. "Don't faint, Detective Walker, but yes. Yes, I am."

Sarah rolled her eyes and walked to the couch, pleased with the way the awkward tension between them throughout the day had eased a little in the elevator. "I haven't had dessert before dinner since I was in middle school. God, that was thrilling at the time," she finished drily.

Chuck turned and watched her kick her pumps off, rubbing her feet after she plopped onto his couch and made herself at home. He gaped at her playfully. "You're kidding! Dessert before dinner is the coolest thing since sliced bread."

"For the record, sliced bread isn't all that cool. I personally prefer slicing my own bread."

Chuck laughed heartily as he prepared his ice cream, his actions unseen to her as she bent down to grab her briefcase and pull it up onto her lap. She had a few background checks of Bartowski Electronics Corporation to run by the younger Bartowski before he got too settled in his post-work routine. She staved off the flush to her face at the sound of his laugh, knowing she'd been the one to cause it.

"And you say you don't have a sense of humor," he teased from the open kitchen.

She bit her lip and thumbed through the papers to find the documents she was looking for. "I don't know what you're talking about. I don't recall ever saying that."

She caught Chuck emerging from around the counter and moving towards her in her peripheral. "Oh. Sorry. You know what? I must have overheard Detective Brandon saying that. My bad," he said, plopping down in the nearby chair with a sigh.

"What?" Her head snapped up, wide-eyed.

Chuck was looking at her with barely concealed laughter, his eyes alight at the worry and annoyance mixed with anger in her features. Everything crumbled but the annoyance as she realized he was joking and they laughed together, even as she threatened to throw one of her pumps at him.

That's when Sarah noticed he had two bowls instead of one. She pointed. "Uh, what's that?"

"Hm?" He looked down. "Oh. Ice cream. Vanilla bean ice cream. To be exact. It's my favorite. Extra vanilla-y." Chuck gave her a big grin, and she had to look away from it, glancing down at her briefcase instead.

Sarah breathed in through her nose. "I mean, why do you have two bowls?"

"Oh, right. Well, you're about to eat ice cream before dinner, so here." He thrust one of the bowls out to her. "I gave you less to make you feel a little better about it."

She furrowed her brow and gave him a dubious look, eyeing the bowl before reaching out to take it. "I don't eat dessert before dinner. Sorry you went to all the trouble."

"Heaven forbid Pinkerton's best and brightest star switches things up a little bit," he snarked, the pleasant sparkle in his eye completely obliterating the sarcasm she thought she'd detected at first.

Glancing down into the bowl, eyeing the little dots of ground vanilla bean in the silky white mounds of delicious ice cream he'd scooped, she found the entire prospect of surrendering to Chuck Bartowski's peer pressure incredibly alluring. The temptation of the ice cream was filling in where his natural charm wasn't doing the job.

She took an extra large spoonful and shoved it into her mouth viciously. She regretted it immediately when a chunk of ice cream collided with her cheek and dribbled down her chin. It would have landed in her briefcase if she hadn't caught it with the back of her wrist.

Chuck was there at a moment's notice, handing her a napkin, laughing so hard his entire body was shaking.

When she swallowed and the sudden brain freeze passed, she glared at him from behind the napkin. She'd finished wiping her face, but kept the napkin in front of her face to mask the intense blush. As she felt the heat of her cheeks lessen, she lowered the napkin again and pursed her lips. "Are you finished?"

"I'm sor—I'm sorry," he gasped, still laughing as he fell back into his chair and slumped down, still having not had any of his ice cream, Sarah mused. "That was the best thing I've seen in years." His laughter died down as he used the pads of his fingers to wipe the tears of mirth from beneath his eyes.

"I'm glad I could be a source of entertainment for you," she groused half-heartedly, smirking down at her briefcase and setting the rest of her ice cream aside. As delicious as it had been, it turned out to be more trouble than it was worth. And her chin still felt a little sticky which was just gross.

"Oh come now. It was amazing."

"Hardly worth the calories," she said, raising an eyebrow even as she kept her eyes on the papers she shuffled through.

"Speak—Speaking of calories, actually…" She heard the clink of Chuck setting his bowl down on the coffee table. When she swung her gaze over to sneak a peek, she saw he'd devoured the ice cream completely. He was a marvel. How'd he always eat so quickly? And where did he put it?

Her musings died immediately when she saw the way he was nervously rubbing his hands on the thighs of his slacks. _Oh no._

"About _this morning_…"

She almost laughed, relieved as she was by the fact that Chuck was worried about _that _and not his mother. "Chuck, I don't know why you're being so weird about it. We don't have to talk it out."

"I just feel like I need to apologize, is all. I shouldn't have just stood there like an idiot."

She shook her head with a grin. "Yeah, why _did _you just stand there forever?"

He was silent for a second, so she flicked her gaze up to him. His ears were red and he was looking down at his lap, rubbing the back of his neck a little bashfully. "I have a feeling you know why."

When his brown eyes met hers she felt a chill go down her spine and she shut her briefcase with a snap. She cursed herself silently. That hadn't exactly been the answer she'd been expecting, but wasn't that one of the things that thrilled her about Chuck? His ability to keep her on her toes? Just when she thought she had him figured out, he went and said something unexpected. It was exciting and frustrating all in one.

Sarah hadn't actually taken the background checks out of the briefcase like she'd meant to. And now she would have to reopen it and look again and…

She set the briefcase at her feet slowly, deciding she could always show him later on.

"Maybe I do." She fought to keep her features steady as she met his gaze.

His lips twitched. "I like going to the gym in the morning when it's still kinda dark out. Because if I work out for a half hour, forty five minutes or so, and I walk back outside, the sun is up by then." He shook his head. "It's weird, but going in when it's dark and coming out when it's light makes me feel _really good_."

She chuckled. "Like you've been at the gym all night?"

"Exactly!" He pointed at her and grinned again, lounging back into his chair and kicking his shoes off. "So…So, uh…you were really pounding on that punching bag, huh? You do a lot of boxing, or…?"

Sarah reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "Uh, no. I didn't box in college or anything, if that's what you're asking."

"Ah. Just exercise?"

She shrugged a shoulder. "Sure."

He paused. "Well, what was that thing you did? The uh, the thing…"

"The thing?" she asked, raising her eyebrows with a small smile.

"Yeah! You looked like a ninja. I thought the bag was gonna come out of the ceiling."

"Oh. That thing. It was nothing." She shrugged again.

"Nothing?!" He put his hands on his head, his eyes wide and his mouth gaping. "Are you kidding me? It was so cool! The way you—Okay, I know. I'm being ridiculous, I'm sorry. It's just that it was pretty impressive. That's all I'm saying on the subject."

She smiled and ducked her head a bit. "Thanks. It's all part of the job."

"Do you really use that? I mean, you fight people?"

"What part of me being your bodyguard did you not get?" He just gaped silently, his body unmoving, his eyes unblinking. It was cute, if a little cartoonish. "I have to know how to fight so that I can protect my clients, Chuck. Agent Brandon is Muay Thai champion of the New Jersey branch of Pinkerton, you know."

"What? Nooo." He shook his head, dubiously, his smile still present. "He's shorter than me."

"That has nothing to do with it. And, uh, Chuck…you're, like, six and a half feet tall, okay? A _lot _of people are shorter than you. _Most_ people are shorter than you."

"Okay, granted. I just think that's wicked awesome. So you Muay Thai?" He swung his hands around in a sad rendition of something that looked a little like kung fu, wrinkling his nose adorably and scowling.

"Sure. Yeah."

"You do?" He scooted forward on his chair, leaning close. She didn't sit back even though they were now much closer than was necessary for this conversation.

"I do."

"Look, you don't even understand how awesome this is. That's really bad ass. You're literally a crime fighter." She tried to ignore the admiration in his eyes, the dreamy look on his face, but she couldn't. It reminded her of the loud thump that had pulled her out of her zone in the gym that morning. And how when she'd turned, Chuck was standing there staring at her with the dreamiest look she'd ever seen on anyone's face, his gym bag on its side at his feet as though it had slipped from his limp fingers.

It was obvious he'd been standing there for awhile, and it was obvious he'd been admiring her. And not just for her fighting prowess.

Sarah's work out gear included a sports bra and tight yoga pants…and nothing else.

What's worse, she'd even felt a little embarrassed at him seeing her that way, covered in a sheen of sweat, her hair in a messy bun at the back of her head, escaped tendrils plastered to her forehead, temples, cheeks…

But he didn't seemed to mind much as he gawked. And then he snapped out of it, stumbled over his gym back a little, picked it up, and apologized profusely. He didn't hear her reassurances that it was alright, that it was his company's gym, and he was free to stay. And he practically ran out of the place like a bat out of hell.

"I'm not a character in one of your video games, Chuck."

"No. No, you're definitely not."

Was that flirting? She eyed him steadily and didn't bother fighting the grin. "Yeah, well…real life fighting is not as easy as pressing a combination of buttons."

"I'm sure. Have you fought bad guys and stuff?"

"What are you, eight?"

"What?" He shrugged.

"_Bad guys_?"

"Yeah! The bad guys. Like the bad guys who wanna hurt my dad, who killed Bob Gerheart, who blew me up." He tapped the bandage on his forehead and she shivered. "The bad guys."

She sobered a little and shook her head. "What's next? The bogeyman?"

"I bet you'd kick his ass, too."

Sarah giggled. "They don't teach anything that would be effective for ghosts, unfortunately."

"Pity. But they do teach you how to fight humans."

"They do. And to answer your question, yes. Yes, I've fought plenty of bad guys."

"But the details are classified," he boomed in a mockingly official baritone.

She laughed again. "Sort of. Not really. Doesn't matter. They're all closed cases."

He paused for awhile, squinting his eyes and rubbing his hands up and down his thighs. "Have you taught other people how to fight? Grasshoppers?"

"Wh—Grasshoppers?"

"It's a movie reference. Forget it."

He seemed to have a lot of those up his sleeves, this guy. "Oookay. Uh…yeah I've taught some of the rookies, sure. But I've been out in the field mostly."

"But you _have _taught fighting tactics and stuff?"

"Yeah. Why?"

A slow smile bloomed on his face and her fingers and toes started tingling. "Can you teach me?"

Sarah Walker crashed back down to Planet Earth and gaped. "What? No."

"No?! Why?!"

"Because!"

"Because _why_, though?"

"Chuck, that's the worst idea ever."

He snorted. "Surely chicken and waffle flavored potato chips are worse."

"Chuck…"

"Okay, seriously. I'm being serious. I'm _seriously _asking you, _please_, to consider teaching me how to kick ass."

"Well, you put it like that, okay."

"Really?"

"No." She smirked at the way he whined and flopped back into his chair like a thirteen year old. "Chuck, my job isn't to teach you how to 'kick ass'; it's to protect you and your father and find out who's threatening you both and why. These guys put a bomb in your pocket! You almost died!" She tried to disguise the hitch in her voice by clearing her throat.

"I know that. But it's like the whole thing with the guy and the fish and the fishing pole."

"The guy and the what and the what? What are you even talking about?" she asked, having no clue where he was going with that, even though she couldn't deny she was having a little bit of fun getting there.

"Th—The story about the man who was going hungry. And another man walks up and gives him a fishing rod and teaches him how to fish instead of just throwing a basket of fish at him and calling it a day."

Sarah blinked. "I think you got that wrong."

He waved her off. "The specifics aren't important. What's important is the point of the story—"

"And what's the point of the story?" she interrupted, wondering if maybe she was having too much fun.

Chuck sent an unamused look her way and crossed his arms petulantly. "What happens if I don't have a bodyguard around and someone tries to attack me?"

"There won't be a time when you don't have a bodyguard."

"What if I'm in the bathroom?"

Sarah was silent, arching an eyebrow.

Chuck's jaw dropped. "Oh come on! You're not seriously saying you guys are gonna follow me into the bathroom! That's pushing it a little, don't you th…" His voice petered out as she began to laugh. Then he narrowed his eyes, smiling a little. "Alright, you got me. Fine."

"Turnabout's fair play, as they say."

"I don't know who says that, but I wanna punch 'em."

"This is exactly why I can't teach you to fight, Chuck. You'd use it to punch people who make up idioms." She shrugged and pouted a little, earning an amused glare.

"Come on, Sarah. Please? I want to be able to defend myself! It's important! It's an imperative life skill! Especially for a guy like me who people want to see dead."

"Oh? And are you going to use karate on a cell phone bomb? Chuck, there are threats self-defense classes can't protect you from! You almost died two weeks ago because of one of those threats!"

He opened his mouth to protest. But then he hopped up instead and reached down to grab her by her wrist, hoisting her to stand in front of him. "Just show me a little somethin' somethin'."

"What, now? No!"

"Yeah! Come on! There's plenty of room…" He looked around, then gestured to the wide space in the living room. "Here! Over here!" Chuck tugged her into the middle of the space and crossed his arms, stepping back. "Oh! Just a sec…" He pulled his suit jacket off and tossed it on the nearby chair. "Ready!"

"I'm not teaching you to fight."

"Do it! Come on! I need to know how to defend myself!"

"No." She crossed her arms and lifted a pert eyebrow.

"Yes. Please? Come on. Can't I at least see a demonstration?" When she didn't respond, he breached the distance between them and put his hands on her shoulders, leaning down a bit to look at her face to face. It was a little disorienting to be this close to him, to say the least. But she kept her calm. "Look, sooner or later, you're gonna solve this case and we're gonna pay you and you're gonna be on the first jet out of here. Then I won't have my bodyguards anymore. What if I get jumped in the parking lot and _I die_?!" he said a bit dramatically. "Surely you don't want that, Detective Walker?"

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. You won't be embarrassed having to learn to fight from a girl?" she couldn't resist teasing.

He took his hands off of her shoulders and stood to his full height, his features softening as he took her in. She swallowed the lump that formed in her throat. "I'm pretty sure you're not a girl, Sarah Walker. You're most definitely a woman."

Her insides turned to water and she thought for a moment her knees had stopped working. Not for the first time, she felt the heat of wanting something she couldn't have creep up her neck and into her face. She cleared her throat and broke his gaze. "It's not a good idea, me teaching you to fight."

"Okay then, teach me how to def—" He reached his hand out to grab hers and she stepped into him, using his weight and her balance to easily flip him over her shoulder and onto his back.

She knelt down next to the gasping future electronics CEO and smirked. "You said you wanted to see a demonstration."

"Oh my God!" he wheezed enthusiastically. "That was awesome! Can you teach me that?"

She almost laughed at his perseverance, but instead uttered a simple "No" and walked back to the couch, sitting down, propping her briefcase on her lap and opening it to continue looking for the background checks.


End file.
